“So you're saying you created five sword styles, and each of them becomes a path to becoming a knight?”

Rem summarized what Enkrid had been explaining nonstop for the past few days. Hearing him, Enkrid’s eyes widened. His round eyes were filled with surprise—not quite shock, but close.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

Rem, irritated, asked.

“You’re terrible at understanding when I explain, but you’re oddly good at summarizing.”

Enkrid replied, still wide-eyed. At this point, Rem knew he was doing it on purpose. He frowned.

“What do you mean I’m terrible? It’s the listener’s fault, not mine. Huh? And can you stop with the bug eyes?”

“I’m just that surprised.”

Rem, who had been scowling, twisted up one side of his mouth. A feral grin. Then he swung his axe.

So fast the draw couldn’t even be seen. His steps were off-beat, making it an unpredictable strike. Not a regular rhythm—a deliberately jarring one.

Enkrid reacted with ease. At some point, his sword was already drawn and moving. He slashed upward diagonally, right into the axe’s path.

Clang!

Steel met steel, wielded by human hands, and a blast of wind erupted from the impact.

Flap—!

Enkrid’s dark green cloak billowed behind him. It wasn’t a fight. Just a demonstration.

After the single clash, Rem spoke calmly.

“That’s what I meant, isn’t it?”

He was a little impressed, deep down. The sudden axe swing was blocked cleanly.

He could no longer consider this man beneath him.

The man in front of him blocked his axe with ease. If he had dodged, Rem would’ve understood. But he didn’t.

He swung later but still matched the axe’s speed.

It wasn’t even a planned duel, yet their strength and speed were on par. That could only mean he was capable of even more.

Of course, Rem could swing faster and heavier, but what mattered was how much Enkrid had improved—unrecognizably compared to before.

Shaking off the thought, Rem snorted.

“Yeah.”

Enkrid gave a concise reply.

In that one move, Rem had excluded all other options and poured his strength into a single strike.

And Enkrid had seen the intent behind it.

A move so fast it defies calculation.

Not a mismatched rhythm—but the very concept of rhythm being ignored.

A mental optimization executed instinctively. It was remarkable. Thinking all of that was simply “talent” felt terribly unfair.

“Show us the heavy sword form, brother.”

Audin interjected. The days of explanation had concluded. It had all started with, “Wavebreaker is based on traditional swordplay.”

Lua Gharne had kept gasping in awe throughout, cheeks puffed out in excitement.

“Show me. What’s next? So that’s how you used the tactical form. I’d noticed, but it’s still astonishing.”

She’d said things like that again and again.

These five sword styles—righteous, heavy, deceitful, swift, and soft—each suited to a different path.

The Wavebreaker style, classical swordsmanship, the Flash Blade, the Sword of Chance—all had been shown, except the heavy strike.

The heavy one couldn’t be demonstrated lightly.

You couldn’t show it in a mindscape. Only predictable moves could be simulated there. So an unrevealed technique like that was out of the question.

Naturally, Audin was interested in how he would channel power into a single blow. He had heard Enkrid combined the Balafian martial arts and the Zaun heavy sword style.

Pell and Rophod watched, eyes sparkling. The group moving around had somehow grown to nine people.

“I was going to show it anyway.”

Enkrid replied as he turned to look at the monster approaching.

A Cyclops—a one-eyed giant. Barehanded, yet it could tear through steel like fresh bread.

If such a creature appeared in the city, it would warrant emergency alarms blaring nonstop.

They’d moved closer to the southern demon zone, so encountering rare monsters was inevitable now.

Or perhaps they’d already slain every ghoul and ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) beast along the way, and only this was left.

Or it was simply chance.

None of that mattered to Enkrid.

He’d intended to seek out such monsters anyway—this one just showed itself. Convenient.

And it was a perfect target to test his technique on.

While the Cyclops advanced, the conversation ended. Enkrid stepped forward to greet it.

“Watch.”

Even with the monster ahead of him, he was calm.

The Cyclops’s arms were so long they brushed the ground, its thigh muscles thicker than an adult man’s waist.

When it hunched over, the backs of its hands dragged across the earth.

Scratch... scrape...

Grooves formed in the hard ground as its fingers moved, barely brushing the surface yet tearing into it. Its skin must’ve been impossibly tough and heavy.

“This’ll be good.”

Lua Gharne said, popping a dried grub in her mouth and plopping down to watch. Pell and Rophod, recently knighted and more ambitious than ever, spread out to Enkrid’s left and right to watch carefully.

They both placed hands on their weapons and lit a flame of focus.

Their burning gazes were proof.

The Cyclops kept its eye locked on Enkrid. It didn’t roar—it preferred tearing things apart with its hands.

Not all monsters shared the same preferences.

Enkrid strode forward to meet it. No hesitation. No fear.

To the monster, it looked like suicide. Walking up just to be torn apart.

Boom! The Cyclops’s feet dug into the ground. Its center of gravity shifted, back tensing. Then its hands shot forward—too fast for any normal person to follow.

Two hook-like arms came in. One aiming for the waist, the other for the thigh.

Smart.

Enkrid assessed the Cyclops’s state with a relaxed mind.

Not aiming for the head or neck—it had learned from experience.

That’s why older monsters were more dangerous. They learned and adapted.

A fact confirmed by Imperial Knight Valphir Valmung. Not a theory—a truth.

Enkrid evaded the hook hands by charging forward—faster than the incoming strike.

He poured his Will into his body and slipped right into the monster’s chest space.

Into the embrace of a creature at least three times his size.

The Cyclops opened its mouth wide. Its jagged teeth—each the size of a human fist—jutted out like a warped brick wall. It aimed to bite his head off.

Hwaak—! The monster’s mismatched teeth clicked together just before a putrid stench could hit him.

That’s when Enkrid’s body began to spin.

Pivoting on his left foot, his body twisted like a whirlwind. His cloak snapped tight against his back. To the Cyclops’s eye, his black hair spun in a blur.

Enkrid focused all his mental power—starting from a pinpoint, expanding, and then concentrating again.

Spin.

You can only go so far with muscle alone. If you want more power, more impact—what do you do?

If smashing a boulder in one hit isn’t enough—you go beyond.

He combined everything he’d ever seen, learned, trained, and created.

His experience crafting new sword styles gave him a new perspective.

All I need is one strike.

Using his left foot as an axis, he twisted like a coiling dragon. He tensed and released every muscle in his body, layering in a burst from his core.

Only what my body can handle.

With an endless Will supply, pouring in too much would tear his muscle fibers. He knew that from experience.

The rotation started from his toes, traveled up his calf, then twisted his waist, transformed into power, and exploded through his sword.

The blade plunged into the monster’s body.

“Nice split.”

He felt it clearly, even with split-second thoughts.

Though the engraved weapon Dawnforge lacked the sharp aura of Penna, when swung, it cut through the monster like a boiled potato. Barely any resistance.

The Cyclops should’ve had stone-hard skin and bones, yet this blade sliced in easier than Aitri’s sacred silver sword.

After gathering rotational power and cutting, Enkrid slipped to the side.

To onlookers, it appeared as if the sword burst out of the monster’s body just after its arms had crossed.

Black blood, entrails, and brain matter spilled from the line drawn by that blade.

Just like that, a creature worthy of being called a nightmare lay dead.

In the south, this Cyclops had been nicknamed the Wandering Demon.

Why call it a demon if it wasn’t actually one?

Partly due to its strength, but mostly because of how many had died at its hands.

Unlike fixed-location monsters, wandering ones like this were harder to find and kill.

It had probably evaded knights until now out of sheer luck.

Enkrid sliced the monster vertically and stepped out. A few drops of black blood landed on his cloak—but were instantly absorbed, leaving no trace.

A living cloak. The sword, too.

Enkrid felt it clearly.

You responded to my will, didn’t you?

He spoke inwardly to his sword. He often oiled it and gently touched it, and though it had felt dull then, now it responded with perfect harmony.

It felt like fighting alongside a friend who understood him perfectly.

So this is what it meant to be an engraved weapon.

To engrave a part of yourself into it.

“Brother, you called that Vortex, didn’t you?”

Audin asked.

Those with a trained eye recognized the hidden brilliance of that one strike.

A blow wrung out from his entire being. Like a bent tree branch snapping back.

Or maybe more like running full speed with a drawn bow, then firing from just three steps away.

That close, every ounce of force transfers.

Audin’s eyes sparkled. The technique aligned with the essence of Balafian martial arts—but was an evolution beyond it.

“That was an incredible lesson.”

Audin said. He even inspected the dead monster’s corpse. The aftermath of the vortex was plainly visible. 𝘧𝘳𝘦ℯ𝓌𝘦𝒷𝘯𝑜𝑣𝘦𝓁.𝒸𝘰𝓂

The wound was far larger than the blade itself. Torn and ripped apart.

It wasn’t just the sword—it was the Will too.

Could divine power mimic this? To go beyond imitation and reach that kind of force—what would it take?

It was something to ponder.

And not just for Audin. Ragna, through talent and instinct, was reverse-engineering the movement in his head.

Rem too. All of them were thinking along the same lines.

Even back at Border Guard, they could’ve studied this. But now that their environment had changed, so had their mindset.

And with that, their perception and understanding had changed too.

It was a time to dive deeper than ever into techniques, swordplay, and training.

Enkrid retaught what he’d learned, and everyone—including Rem—had no hesitation in learning from him anew.

Seeing everyone digest what they’d learned, Enkrid also learned from them.

A strange and wonderful sight.

Everyone sharing and learning from each other.

“I heard it was around here.”

Rophod murmured while walking.

Everyone turned to him.

About four days into their march south, Rophod had pieced together some rumors.

They had found a demon zone long rumored to exist here. Like the Gray Forest near Oara.

It wasn’t common—but not entirely special either, given how close they were to the demon zone.

A scholar once said: Approaching the southern demon zone is like passing a hundred islands.

He had seen the sea before, and even sailed near the coast—but the “hundred islands” metaphor never quite landed.

Still, the meaning was clear: Near a major demon zone, there would be a hundred minor ones.

“If there are really a hundred, how many are you planning to clear?”

Rem asked.

Enkrid answered with firm resolve.

“All of them.”

It wasn’t a promise, but a declaration of intent.

Rem nodded. That’s just how the captain was.

If they hadn’t run into the Cyclops today, he would’ve chased it down anyway.

No way they’d just pass by a monster nicknamed “demon.”

Too curious not to meet it.

“There.”

Jaxon pointed. Shinar nodded.

She had the keenest senses in the group—and the ability to identify things based on that strange intuition.

It was a forest thick with deep brown leaves. Not a gray forest, but a brown one.

Yet the color felt ominous.

“Full of things you can’t eat.”

Lua Gharne puffed her cheeks slightly as she said it.

They hadn’t even entered yet, but Enkrid could already see things squirming on the ground inside.

Some looked like worms. Others were rounder. A twisted ecosystem corrupted by the demon zone. Even the insects had changed.

A breeze blew the forest’s scent toward them—reeking of decay.

“I heard this is where a parasite-type monster has taken root. If you let your guard down, even a quasi-knight could get taken out...”

As Rophod said that, a sword-wielding figure emerged from within.

One side of his face was veined with brown lines, and only the whites showed in his eyes.

Rophod changed his words:

“Well, someone’s already been taken.”

The man looked clearly monstrous. Rem didn’t hesitate. At the sight, his handaxe flew through the air.

Whoosh! It split the air, aiming right for the head.

Clang!

The man raised his greatsword and blocked it diagonally. Enkrid, staring, spoke.

“Don’t kill him.”

“Why?”

Rem looked back and asked. Whatever that thing was, he was sure it wasn’t worthy of him.

“I know that face.”

Enkrid answered.

It was true. The man’s name was Roman. A quasi-knight.

He should have been in the city of Oara—but here he was, eyes rolled back.

“Should I just cut off his legs?”

Rem asked.

“No, just restrain him.”

To anyone else, that would sound like an exceptionally difficult task.

Roman, once a quasi-knight, swung his greatsword—and with it, the air compressed and burst apart with a heavy boom.